To the reader

Some thoughts, I cannot keep.

Friday, February 3, 2012


The first slumber is jarring,
you rebel. You shake like a prophet.

The second time, you knit your brows,
concerned but unsurprised.

The third time you sigh.

Oh my soul, that sigh was like a dying breath. You are asleep in your own body.

The song of life is no lullaby for your heart. Life hums and buzzes
with the work of billions,

and the keeper who sleeps by the hive is a dead man.

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